


A Wonderful Christmas Timey-Wimey

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, David Tennant being mistaken for David Tennant, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Shopping, non-pandemic times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Crowley isn't feeling the holidays this year, which Aziraphale thinks is par for the course, what with him being a demon and all. With only a few days left until Christmas, Crowley runs into a girl who may change that for him.A girl who mistakes him for The Tenth Doctor.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Holiday 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037904
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020





	A Wonderful Christmas Timey-Wimey

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt 'shopping'.

“Must you pick out every present for the toy appeal yourself?” Crowley asks, rearranging items on the shelf, replacing a few of the more popular toys with jars of pickled fish, tins of olives, and tubes of fungal foot cream. "This is so _dull_!"

"It would be less dull if you helped instead of complained."

"Mrr ... ngk ... urgh ..."

"You'd be brightening someone else's day," Aziraphale says to persuade him.

"Not really my department," Crowley replies. "You could always do what other shops do and put a donation bin inside your door.”

“Inside my door?” Aziraphale utters a disgusted noise. “You expect me to invite people into my shop on _purpose_!?”

“It would be for the good of mankind,” Crowley teases. "Well, child-kind, more accurately."

“I am not going to dignify that heinous suggestion with a remark,” Aziraphale mutters, walking to the opposite side of his trolley to escape his husband’s asinine ideas. 

"I still don't see why you need to do this yourself. I don't think braving a crowd of the entitled to buy useless junk for kids is going to earn you brownie points with Heaven."

“Buying presents is fun, Crowley, no matter who they're for! It gets me into the holiday spirit!”

“Not me. I’m not feeling Christmas this year.”

Aziraphale looks up and considers his gloomy husband. He'd thought this mopey affectation was simply per the norm. He didn't realize his husband was honestly feeling blue. “Have you felt the Christmas spirit any other year?”

Crowley shrugs. “Once or twice. It’s become such a vulgar holiday, hasn’t it? The commercialization, the greed, the false charity - such a far cry from the days when generous humans would leave presents anonymously on the steps of their needy neighbors. Nowadays, with social media, everything’s such a show. _Look what I gave! Look who I helped! Look how compassionate I am!_ ” Crowley grimaces. “Despicable.”

“I would imagine, as a demon, you would take pride in the change,” Aziraphale says icily.

“’m not that kind of demon, angel.”

“You’ve got a few days yet. Maybe you’ll come across something that will fill you with Christmas joy.”

“Doubt it.” Crowley goes back to the ruination of the shelves, snarling when his husband manages to set things to rights behind his back. He's preparing to remove the word _not_ from the boxes marked _batteries not included_ when he gets the distinct feeling that someone is stalking them. He stands straight and peeks down the aisle, eyes darting left and right behind his glasses so as not to be too obvious. Once he confirms his suspicions, he comes up behind Aziraphale and whispers, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

“All the time,” Aziraphale says nonchalantly. “Because we are. The Almighty sees all, remember?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. What a frickin’ angel thing to say? “We’re not alone.” 

“Exactly! Didn’t you hear what I just …?”

Crowley steps in front of his husband, grabs Aziraphale’s head, and tilts it to the side. Aziraphale’s gaze follows. From around the end of the aisle, Aziraphale spots a pair of stunning green eyes, set in a face surrounded by a blonde bob, disappear into the doll aisle.

“What the …? Oh, dear …” 

"Wot? Wot's wrong?"

Aziraphale chuckles. "It looks like we have company.”

Crowley turns to see a woman headed their way, spurred on by a girl pushing her in their direction. The woman waves sheepishly. “Hello. I am so sorry to bother you.”

Aziraphale smiles. “It’s quite alright. Is there something we can do for you?”

“Kind of.” The woman glances sternly behind her when the girl gives her a shove. “My name is Sheila. This …” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder at the child they have yet to see completely “… is my little sister Freya.”

“Hello, Freya.” Aziraphale tries to maneuver around Sheila’s body to get a good look at the girl. He catches a glimpse, but Freya moves too quickly out of view for Aziraphale to get more than that. But from what he can see, she isn’t paying attention to him.

She’s focused on Crowley.

“She’s shy,” Sheila says. “But she asked me to come talk to you because she thinks …” Aziraphale hears the girl whisper, something only her sister can understand, and Sheila sighs. “I’m so very sorry, but she thinks that you …” She gestures to Crowley “… are … The Doctor.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide. “Doctor?” he repeats, confounded since, in all his long years on this planet, to his recollection, no one has ever mistaken him for a doctor. An undertaker, definitely. A forensic investigator, once or twice. A rockstar and, on occasion, an actor. But not a doctor. 

With a sudden spark, it hits him. 

Not _a_ doctor. 

_The_ Doctor. 

“Wait - Doctor. You mean like … Doctor _Who_ , The Doctor?”

Freya giggles. Sheila’s cheeks turn pink. “The Tenth Doctor specifically, yeah. Again, I’m really sorry about this, but, uh …” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and produces a handkerchief when Sheila chokes up “… our mum's just passed, and our dad's underway. He’s not going to be home in time for the holidays." She sniffles. "I'm afraid we've been suffering from a severe lack of cheer lately.”

“So it seems,” Aziraphale says sympathetically.

“And I thought that maybe if you didn’t mind … I mean, I know you don’t know us from Adam, but …”

While Sheila talks to Aziraphale, Crowley gets down on one knee to get a better look at Freya. She’s the most erratically dressed child he’s ever seen. But kids can get away with that, can’t they? She’s wearing oversized trousers, a floor-length coat, a shirt with a rainbow across the front, braces …

 _Oh, gee,_ he thinks. _She’s dressed like The Thirteenth Doctor._

Freya sneaks a peek, lower lip sucked so far between her teeth, he can see every freckle on her chin.

He smiles and gives her a wink.

“Figured me out, did ya?”

Both Aziraphale and Sheila go silent when they hear Freya gasp.

“It _is_ you!” Freya says, eyes so wide they start to compete with every other feature on her face. “My sis said it probably wasn’t you, but I knew it was! I just knew it!”

“It’s me,” Crowley says, not entirely sure where he goes from here. “But you can’t tell anyone you saw me, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry …” Freya motions zipping her lips together “… I won’t say anything to anyone! I promise!” She leans forward and whispers, “Where’s your TARDIS? I didn’t notice a police box outside.”

“And she looks,” Sheila says. “She _really_ looks. Every time we leave the house.”

“Oh, uh, you know what? I got it fixed,” he says, quickly culling from one of the few pieces of Doctor Who trivia he knows. “The chameleon circuit? It's good as new.”

“It is?” Freya’s eyes light up as if she's hearing the most important news of her young life.

“It looks just like a regular old car now.”

“Really?”

“Yup. A big black car.”

“Wicked!”

Aziraphale doesn’t hear everything Crowley says to Freya, but that doesn’t concern him. Crowley has always been aces at dealing with children. And as Freya’s eyes become wider and her smile spreads, Aziraphale can’t help smiling himself. Crowley is a demon with a vivid imagination, and he’s using it to weave this girl a tale of wondrous, supernatural antics, which includes traveling through time with a man he calls his _companion_ (whom Aziraphale realizes, with a flick of Freya’s eyes upward, is supposed to be him) as they attempt to save Christmas from …

“The Weeping Angels?” Freya looks about her, a mixture of anxiety and excitement turning her cheeks red. “I read that comic! About how you and Thirteen went up against them to save Earth! Are they back?”

“No. Even _worse_."

Freya's mouth forms a tiny 'o'. "The _Master?_ ” 

"Yes." Crowley echos her gravitas to make it appear he understands the dangers of being pursued by such a villain. "Hence my disguise, which you saw through brilliantly. Well done!"

“Oh, I could tell it was a disguise from a mile away!” she proclaims with the modesty of a child who has gotten one over on the adults.

“How?” 

“The hair! You’re ginger! But, between you and me, I’d tone it down.”

“You would?” Crowley says in a way that makes Aziraphale snicker, falling somewhere between engaging and offended.

“Oh, yes!” she says. “It’s a bit on the bright side. It’s a dead giveaway that it's fake.”

Crowley nods, fighting to keep his cool. It would do him no good to start bickering with a child over whether or not a fictional character should wear their hair his color. “Noted.”

Sheila watches Crowley interact with her sister, sees her smile for the first time in weeks.

Sheds a tear when Freya tells Crowley that he is, without a doubt, her favorite Doctor, and that when she sees him on the telly or reads about him in the comics, it makes her feel less sad and alone.

“Okay, Freya,” Sheila says, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. “I think it’s time for us to let these gentlemen get back to their business.”

“She means the mission,” Freya corrects for her.

“That’s right,” Crowley says. “But you know what? We’ll bump into each other again. Another _time_.”

“Yes,” Freya says in awe. “We will. Another _time_.”

Sheila takes her sister’s hand, but the girl breaks free and throws herself into Crowley’s arms, squeezing him tight. “Thank you, Doctor!”

It takes Crowley a second, but he wraps his arms around Freya’s thin body and squeezes back. “You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Freya,” Sheila says in a wobbly voice. “Let's go home.”

“Goodbye, Doctor! Goodbye, Doctor's Companion!”

"Goodbye, Miss Freya," Aziraphale says, amused to be relegated to the title of _Doctor's Companion_. His name must not be necessary, he muses, since she never asked it.

Freya takes her sister’s hand and pulls her from the aisle, telling her all the things Crowley had said about his and Aziraphale’s mission to save Christmas.

Crowley watches Freya and Sheila round the corner, the girl pausing a moment to give them one final wave before she skips out of sight. 

But Crowley doesn’t look away.

He stares thoughtfully after her, doesn’t snap out of it until Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Crowley says, slowly falling back to Earth. 

"Shall we get going, too?"

"No," Crowley says in a distant voice. His eyes travel from the end of the aisle to Aziraphale's hand on his shoulder, down to the trolley half full of toys. With a hiccup, he picks up where they left off before Sheila and Freya stopped by, and Crowley became The Doctor. "No! You're nowhere near done! Wot? Were you only planning on helping five kids? Pfft!" Crowley clears his throat. "Would you mind if I, uh, picked out a few things, too? For the appeal?"

Aziraphale looks at him strangely. "You want to shop for toys?"

"You’ve only chosen the boring ones! The educational slop! No kid is gonna want _half_ this stuff! I think that, maybe, you don’t have the knack.”

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest. “I don't have the knack?”

“Yes.”

“For buying toys?”

“Again, yes.”

Aziraphale grins. “Are you asking to help me brighten someone else's day?”

Crowley's cheeks go pale. “No! Maybe. Don’t look at me like that. You’re just buying toys. It’s not astrophysics. Look, turn down the halo, or I’m going home!”


End file.
